The Coalition of the Swilling

The fellow with his hands in his pockets was on Oriskany ~ as a ten year old. He said they were living in San Francisco when the ship came in. His uncle was a crew member and brought them all out to the boat for a tour. It was magical for a young boy, he said, climbing all over her.

"There's not much I remember from being ten, but I remember that day."

And now he was here for her day.
The fellow to his right will be watching from a boat Wednesday, as Oriskany goes down.

It was surreal on the beach. About a hundred or so folks, most staying in their cars, watching her progress. Quietly. Reverently. The light so bright it hurt your eyes, but it made the turquoise and emerald in the water pop. Oriskany under tow, moving imperceptively along. Sometimes the smoke from the tugs looked like it was rising from the carrier itself, while the base helo worked it's way back and forth. It was a snapshot moment of a vibrant past. A flash of memories, of had beens. Then the tug smoke would dissipate, the angle would change, the tow cable would reappear and her escort ships would move closer. I couldn't decide if it felt like a funeral procession or witnessing a dead man walking. To my right, the Blue Angels came overhead, lining up to land at Sherman Field ~ just getting home from a weekend airshow. The past and the present together there in that crystalline instant. As it should be.

I'm glad I went.